<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">The Road to Dieppe</h1><p class="inline-note" xmlns:html="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40"> [Concerning the experiences of a journey on foot through the night of August 4, 1914 (the night alter the formal declaration of war between England and Germany), from a town near Amiens, in France, to Dieppe, a distance of somewhat more than forty miles.] </p><div class="stanza"><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">Before</span> I knew, the Dawn was on the road,</p><p class="line">Close at my side, so silently he came</p><p class="line">Nor gave a sign of salutation, save</p><p class="line">To touch with light my sleeve and make the way</p><p class="line">Appear as if a shining countenance</p><p class="line">Had looked on it. Strange was this radiant Youth,</p><p class="line">As I, to these fair, fertile parts of France,</p><p class="line">Where Cæsar with his legions once had passed,</p><p class="line">And where the Kaiser's Uhlans yet would pass</p><p class="line">Or e'er another moon should cope with clouds</p><p class="line">For mastery of these same fields. -- To-night</p><p class="line">(And but a month has gone since I walked there)</p><p class="line">Well might the Kaiser write, as Cæsar wrote,</p><p class="line">In his new Commentaries on a Gallic war,</p><p class="line">"<em>Fortissimi Belgæ</em>." -- A moon ago!</p><p class="line">Who would have then divined that dead would lie</p><p class="line">Like swaths of grain beneath the harvest moon</p><p class="line">Upon these lands the ancient Belgæ held,</p><p class="line">From Normandy beyond renowned Liège! --</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">But it was out of that dread August night</p><p class="line">From which all Europe woke to war, that we,</p><p class="line">This beautiful Dawn-Youth, and I, had come,</p><p class="line">He from afar. Beyond grim Petrograd</p><p class="line">He'd waked the moujik from his peaceful dreams,</p><p class="line">Bid the muezzin call to morning prayer</p><p class="line">Where minarets rise o'er the Golden Horn,</p><p class="line">And driven shadows from the Prussian march</p><p class="line">To lie beneath the lindens of the <em>stadt</em>.</p><p class="line">Softly he'd stirred the bells to ring at Rheims,</p><p class="line">He'd knocked at high Montmartre, hardly asleep,</p><p class="line">Heard the sweet carillon of doomed Louvain,</p><p class="line">Boylike, had tarried for a moment's play</p><p class="line">Amid the traceries of Amiens,</p><p class="line">And then was hast'ning on the road to Dieppe,</p><p class="line">When he o'ertook me drowsy from the hours</p><p class="line">Through which I'd walked, with no companions else</p><p class="line">Than ghostly kilometer posts that stood</p><p class="line">As sentinels of space along the way. --</p><p class="line">Often, in doubt, I'd paused to question one,</p><p class="line">With nervous hands, as they who read Moon-type;</p><p class="line">And more than once I'd caught a moment's sleep</p><p class="line">Beside the highway, in the dripping grass,</p><p class="line">While one of these white sentinels stood guard,</p><p class="line">Knowing me for a friend, who loves the road,</p><p class="line">And best of all by night, when wheels do sleep</p><p class="line">And stars alone do walk abroad. -- But once</p><p class="line">Three watchful shadows, deeper than the dark,</p><p class="line">Laid hands on me and searched me for the marks</p><p class="line">Of traitor or of spy, only to find</p><p class="line">Over my heart the badge of loyalty. --</p><p class="line">With wish for <em>bon voyage</em> they gave me o'er</p><p class="line">To the white guards who led me on again.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Thus Dawn o'ertook me and with magic speech</p><p class="line">Made me forget the night as we strode on.</p><p class="line">Where'er he looked a miracle was wrought:</p><p class="line">A tree grew from the darkness at a glance;</p><p class="line">A hut was thatched; a new château was reared</p><p class="line">Of stone, as weathered as the church at Cæn;</p><p class="line">Gray blooms were coloured suddenly in red;</p><p class="line">A flag was flung across the eastern sky. --</p><p class="line">Nearer at hand, he made me then aware</p><p class="line">Of peasant women bending in the fields,</p><p class="line">Cradling and gleaning by the first scant light,</p><p class="line">Their sons and husbands somewhere o'er the edge</p><p class="line">Of these green-golden fields which they had sowed,</p><p class="line">But will not reap, -- out somewhere on the march,</p><p class="line">God but knows where and if they come again.</p><p class="line">One fallow field he pointed out to me</p><p class="line">Where but the day before a peasant ploughed,</p><p class="line">Dreaming of next year's fruit, and there his plough</p><p class="line">Stood now mid-field, his horses commandeered,</p><p class="line">A monstrous sable crow perched on the beam.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Before I knew, the Dawn was on the road,</p><p class="line">Far from my side, so silently he went,</p><p class="line">Catching his golden helmet as he ran,</p><p class="line">And hast'ning on along the dun straight way,</p><p class="line">Where old men's sabots now began to clack</p><p class="line">And withered women, knitting, led their cows,</p><p class="line">On, on to call the men of Kitchener</p><p class="line">Down to their coasts, -- I shouting after him:</p><p class="line">"O Dawn, would you had let the world sleep on</p><p class="line">Till all its armament were turned to rust,</p><p class="line">Nor waked it to this day of hideous hate,</p><p class="line">Of man's red murder and of woman's woe!"</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Famished and lame, I came at last to Dieppe,</p><p class="line">But Dawn had made his way across the sea,</p><p class="line">And, as I climbed with heavy feet the cliff,</p><p class="line">Was even then upon the sky-built towers</p><p class="line">Of that great capital where nations all,</p><p class="line">Teuton, Italian, Gallic, English, Slav,</p><p class="line">Forget long hates in one consummate faith.</p></div><p class="byline">John Finley</p></body></html> · Great War